


Augusta

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: One Shot, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-30
Updated: 2010-05-30
Packaged: 2019-01-19 19:08:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12416199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: She was guilty. She was guilty. She was guilty. Augusta Longbottom reflects.





	Augusta

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

Of course she’d known about the prophecy. Of course her son – her darling, brave boy – had told her that his son might be in danger. It was only natural, then, that she’d told every one of her friends who would listen to her fears that her grandson was a Squib. 

 (“Don’t understand it” – “perhaps the shock to Alice’s body during that explosion” – “how will I live down such shame?”)

 Of course she’d been hoping that the news would make it back to Him. The news that her grandson hadn’t a spark of magic would be invaluable. A Squib is no danger to a Dark Lord, after all.

 She remembered that November morning. 

 “James and Lily,” Frank had said with a cry. “He went after their son instead.”

 And the guilt that she had felt. There was a sandbag on her chest pressing down. There were pins and needles in her hands. She’d swallowed her hard candy and coughed violently as it stopped for a moment in her throat. 

 She had killed James and Lily Potter. She had dishonoured her grandson – called him a Squib to all who would listen – to keep Him away; she’d had no idea that there was another option.

 She was a murderer.

 And so when Frank went insane, when Alice followed suit, when small, nearly orphaned Neville appeared to indeed be a Squib, she understood that she was being punished. She had taken lives and had orphaned a son. Her son, then, was taken from her. Her grandson fell to her own care, and was deprived of magic (as were the childhood years of James and Lily’s son, who she’d heard had been hidden with Muggles). 

 She was guilty. She was guilty. She was guilty. 

 Then, one day, bouce.


End file.
